


Flame Body

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F, Pokemon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 12:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14044722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Mòrag returns to Gormott to find that Brighid has a new ward.





	Flame Body

She spots Brighid off in the distance, a hearteningly familiar sight after weeks of travel. Her pace quickens, and Mòrag removes her hat as she approaches. Brighid turns and smiles so brightly in a rare moment of genuine excitement, as warm as the sun itself. Mòrag can feel her heartbeat soaring.

“Lady Mòrag! You’ve come back.”

“I had promised, did I not?” Mòrag holds her hat against her chest and bows her head in greeting. The gesture is an unnecessary formality, really, but ingrained habits don’t die so easily. Brighid glances at the Garchomp behind Mòrag for only an offhanded moment, all her attention focused on Mòrag instead.

She steps closer and cups her face in her hands. Mòrag closes her eyes, comforted by her soft touch.

Then, Brighid pulls at the strand of hair hanging across her face, and Mòrag winces.

“You’ve come back _two months late,_ ” she chides, only half-serious.

“Ow— yes, I’m aware.”

“But I’m not upset with you.”

“This rough mistreatment implies otherwise.”

Brighid lets go of her and walks back to the fence, looking out as if she’s searching for something. The field stretches far off into the horizon like an ocean of grass. Its beauty is marred by trails of scorch marks here and there, but Mòrag doesn’t think to question it just yet, more concerned with addressing the issue at hand.

These kinds of things are an inevitability, what with new issues constantly cropping up and challengers always seeking her out. There’s never a moment of rest for Mòrag, it seems. She can’t remember the last time she had been able to relax like this. Her Garchomp looms behind her like a shadow as she goes over to stand beside Brighid.

“I’m sorry, Brighid. How have you been?”

“Same as you. Busy.” She rests her arms against the fence. Mòrag does the same, though her posture still remains awkwardly stiff, as if she’s not used to standing like this.

The tall grasses ripple, stirred by a warm breeze that combs across the field. Mòrag takes a deep breath in appreciation of the clean air, untainted by the smog of industry. She had missed Gormott as much as she misses Mor Ardain.

“It’s quiet out here,” she comments.

“Too quiet,” Brighid says, then adds: “Without you.”

“Then, come with me next time. I’ll find someone else to assign to this outpost— it’s hardly an appropriate station for someone of your status, anyway. _Come with me._ ”

Brighid softly laughs. “Why, Lady Mòrag, it almost sounds as though you’re begging for my company.”

Gravely, she says, “If it comes to that, then I shall beg.”

“Carraig isn’t enough for you?”

Mòrag glances at the Garchomp behind her. He had curled up on the ground and is dozing off, uninterested in their exchange.

“… Conversation isn’t his strong suit.”

Again, Brighid laughs, this time slightly louder. She places a hand on Mòrag’s arm, the gesture gentle and belying the mild irritation beneath the surface. “To think that Mor Ardain’s Champion had only been hungry for _conversation_ this entire time.”

“Only with you in particular.”

Brighid is silent long enough that Mòrag begins to fidget with her hands. Then, there’s a shrill neigh echoing far off somewhere, and Brighid turns in the direction of where the noise had come from. Mòrag squints. There’s something swiftly moving towards them across the field.

“I’d love to accompany you, really. But I have things to do here as well.”

A… Rapidash. So that’s where all those scorch marks had come from. Mòrag’s Garchomp stirs and lifts his head, vaguely interested.

Mòrag tries not to look too astonished. “Its flames are blue.”

“She’s quite beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Y— yes.”

The Rapidash slows to a trot as it approaches the fence, tossing its head and eyeing Mòrag uneasily. Brighid makes a soft noise and extends her hands; it nuzzles her, allowing her to run her palms across its neck. Still, it continues to glare at Mòrag, and she awkwardly takes a couple steps back to maintain some distance.

The air around it shimmers from the heat it gives off, but Brighid seems unbothered.

“When did you…?”

“Not long after you had left,” Brighid says. “She doesn’t take kindly to strangers, so I thought it would be best to keep her out here, away from the city.”

That doesn’t quite answer all her questions, but it probably doesn’t matter. Mòrag hesitantly reaches for the Rapidash, but she can feel the searing heat before her hand even gets close. It makes a sudden movement and she recoils before she’s burned.

Somehow, she feels offended.

“Lady Mòrag?”

“… It’s nothing.”

“Don’t take it personally. Like I said, she’s slow to warm up to others.”

“But she seems just fine with you.” Yes, this could certainly be an obstacle in her bid to have Brighid accompany her on her next round of travels. She could have the Rapidash sent to the Palace to be cared for, but she doubts both Brighid and the Rapidash would be particularly happy with those arrangements.

Mor Ardain is no place for a beast such as this one, besides. The region is too desolate for anything other than the types that easily make their homes in the dry earth and amongst the craggy rocks. She half-heartedly counts the various scorch marks that scar the grassy plain as Brighid murmurs something to the Rapidash.

An odd pang of envy strikes her as she watches Brighid casually run a hand through those brilliant azure flames. They spread up her arm and engulf it up to the shoulder, but even her clothes remain unburnt.

Again, without even thinking, Mòrag reaches for the Rapidash. It snorts and canters away to graze, far out of reach.

It’s very hard not to feel disappointed. “Did I do something to offend her? I’m hardly the untrustworthy type.”

“So you say, but…” Brighid’s no longer smiling. She watches the Rapidash chew and sear the grass around it. “I’ve been waiting for you all this time, you know.”

“And I’m grateful for your patience.”

“Even my patience has its limits, Lady Mòrag.”

Well. _That_ doesn’t sound good. Mòrag helplessly pulls at her gloves, still thinking of the painful heat of the Rapidash’s flames that Brighid is immune to. They’ve always been so tightly entwined in each other’s lives until Mòrag became Champion, and suddenly she began traveling to take care of this and that, to ward off challengers to her title and to do everything else that she imagined had to be done.

The fact that Brighid’s Rapidash doesn’t even trust her makes her all too aware of the friction that her absence had had on their relationship. Distance had never been an issue before, but that stability was bound to waver at some point. What have they been doing, really? What has _she_ been doing?

Mòrag’s Garchomp is trying to climb over the fence. The wood threatens to snap under his immense weight.

“I won’t sit idly while you work yourself to death,” Brighid says, when Mòrag can’t seem to come up with a response. “But I can’t leave her here, either. Without my protection, she’d surely be captured and sold on the black market for her unique flames.”

“We all have our responsibilities…” Mòrag weakly says.

“You vastly overestimate your workload. Groudon no longer threatens Mor Ardain. The conflict with Uraya is over, too. Leave the smaller tasks to others for once.” Brighid strides over to Mòrag’s Garchomp and sharply pats his leg, and he sheepishly gets off the fence. She turns back to Mòrag. Azure embers linger on her arm where the Rapidash’s flames had kissed her.

“Can’t you take a break? For me, if not for yourself?”

A Champion’s life is one without any rest. That’s what Mòrag had thought, when she claimed the title. Or maybe she was just looking for an excuse to keep herself busy to the point of fatigue.

She truly did miss Brighid with all her heart, even if it had only been two months. But so much had apparently happened in that relatively short timeframe. Mòrag steps close to her and snuffs out the remaining embers. She was never skilled at this sort of thing. Surely Brighid knows that.

“I’d… like to stay here, to earn that beast’s trust. And to earn yours back as well, Brighid,” she slowly says.

That’s as good a declaration as any. Brighid wraps her arms around Mòrag’s waist and pulls her in to close off the remaining distance, and Mòrag automatically reciprocates the embrace. For the first time in weeks, Mòrag feels at ease.

“Thank you for indulging my selfishness, Lady Mòrag.” Their foreheads touch. Mòrag’s Garchomp grumbles and turns the other way.

“I won’t leave you again. We go together, always.”

It’s a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to keep the focus on the moraghid rather than the au worldbuilding but feel free to ask for more details and stuff


End file.
